Hearts on fire
by Looking at her hurt
Summary: And by the end of the night, or the beginning on the morning, she knows that nine hundred years from now, she'll still remember the way his skin felt against hers, the rhythm of his furiously beating heart, and the feeling of her heart on fire.


**This is super important to make the story make sense..I think?**

**Okay so this is going to be sort of confusing because I wrote it well over a year ago. (April 25th 2013 I think) and I had just been reading a book about Irish mythology. Caroline is based on a creature from this who's name I can't remember! All I know is it's a creature who lives forever by feeding on the lives of men who are in love with her. These men are typically artists, or musicians and are giving great inspiration and happiness from her before they die. So I took a lot of liberties with this mythology, but it's been clogging up space for over a year now, so I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Klaus is lying in a hospital bed the first time he sees her. It's three o'clock in the morning, and he's in desperate need of some pain relief, anything to numb the pain. He doesn't remember exactly what happened, but he knows the his arm didn't always point in that direction. Alcohol may have played a part in his lapse of memory, and maybe it was something stronger. He needs to escape the madness.

It's been five weeks since he decided to try an make a living from his art, and he's spent those five weeks doing _nothing._

He's been sleeping on Elijah's couch, not bothering to look for an apartment of his own. He blew through his savings in the first two weeks, buying ridiculously overpriced supplies, supplies that have yet to be touched. His make-shift studio in Katherine's home office has been moved to the basement storage area, not that he cares. Looking at it just makes him feel like he's failing, which he is, miserably.

He figures he's got another week before Elijah snaps and tells him to get a job, and for that he's grateful. If it were up to Katherine, he'd have been kicked out weeks ago.

She's never liked him much, often referring to him as a waste of space. He barely made it through college as it was, and has spent most of his time drifting through life. Elijah and Katherine are the polar opposite, having five, ten, and twenty year plans.

Although, he doesn't know why she's _so _against him. She hasn't always been perfect, having met Elijah while she was patient at a rehab facility. Drugs, alcohol, _sex, _there wasn't an addiction that Katherine didn't have. But with the of saint Elijah, she's a completely different person. Unfortunately for her, Klaus sees through her little facade.

He's calling for the nurse repeatedly, the nice looking blonde one, and his speech is only slightly slurred. She's pretty, they all are, but none strike anything in him like she did, Tatia.

But Tatia's gone, and she isn't coming back.

His mind remains blank, his soul empty.

It's times like this that he misses the darkness, the raw emotion that he used to feel. He even misses the mood swings, how he'd be ecstatically happy one minute, and feeling like he was ready to jump off the edge of a cliff the next.

Klaus's personality is not one to be desired. He's sadistic, careless, paranoid, impulsive, emotional, quick-tempered, volatile, manipulative- and so many other things that make him unlovable to so many, including his own parents.

Mikael hated him, and that was before he even discovered that Klaus was a bastard, the product of an affair.

Esther never cared about him, she couldn't have. If she'd cared, she'd have protected him.

And as he was, Klaus had been happy when they'd died, relieved that he no longer had to seek their approval.

"Hello." He hears, and he turns his head to the side, trying to put a face to the voice. He isn't disappointed. She's beautiful, in the most traditional sense of the word. Tall, blonde, pale, and one of the most enchanting smiles he's seen in a while. She is genuine beauty.

He doesn't return her greeting.

"You look like you need help. Do you need help?" She asks, clocking her head to the side, and looking like the definition of innocence itself. "I could help you, if you like."

"I'm Klaus." He informs her, his voice hoarse, his throat dry. He rubs his sweaty palms along his jeans, and blinks rapidly in an attempt to ensure that he's not hallucinating.

She giggles, and nods, looking positively manic as she does.

"Do you like to fly, _Klaus?_"

* * *

"It's great." He tells him, although Klaus is certain that he's just humoring him, simply brushing him off. He's spent a week deliberating whether it's the best thing he's ever created, or the worst idea that his mind has ever conjured up. Marcel stands there grinning at him, convinced that his mentor is back, _finally. "_I think I know a guy who'd be interested." Klaus is barely listening, watching the blonde at the bar. He can't see her face, only the blonde curls that cascade down her back.

It reminds him of Caroline, his _Caroline._

It's been a week since he's seen her, a week since she disappeared on him. They'd talked for a couple of hours, talked enough that he'd sobered up, and then shortly after sunrise she had asked him for a coffee. He had left to get her one, and returned to find her missing.

She turns around, and his dream of it being Caroline quickly fades.

"That's Camille." Marcel whispers, as if the girl had any hope of hearing. The girl, Camille, smiles and waves, her attention solely focused on Klaus. "She's been working here for a couple of weeks." He fancies her. It's obvious by the way he grins, and his eyes widen in anticipation when she rounds the counter, and makes her way towards them.

Klaus sees an oppurtunity, a turn to win the game.

Marcel is younger than him, and his friend, at one point Klaus was his mentor when he was failing his first year of college. Marcel is also insufferably more successful than him.

If Klaus can get the girl that he is sweet on, he will feel _so _much better.

She extends her hand, and he takes it eagerly, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. She blushes, and averts her gaze, but it isn't long before she returns. He's vaguely aware of Marcel's rambling.

"Please, call me Cami." She says, her smile bright, and almost daringly innocent.

* * *

It takes a week, maybe two, time is always distorted to him, but eventually, he finds himself in Camille's bed. She's sweet, kind, intelligent, strong and probably everything he needs to make him try to be _good. _

But he wants her, and only her.

He's pretty sure that he imagined her, that he got so desperate that his imagination invented a person, an intoxicating beauty.

Marcel has sold his painting, and Camille has spoken to the owner of the gallery that she works at, shown him some of Klaus' works. He's willing to display a couple of pieces, a couple like the one he sold.

Trouble is, he can't create anymore.

It's half twelve, and he's making his way through the halls of Camille's building. He's never stayed, and he'll never stay. He tells her that, and has the decency to wait until she falls asleep to leave.

"Klaus," He turns around, convinced that he's dreaming.

"Caroline," He greets, his face alight with both surprise and joy. "Fancy meeting you here." She's dressed like a normal person and not a patient this time round, although she never did offer an explanation to her hospital gown. She's wearing jeans, a cream top, and a brown blazer. Her hair is pulled into a messy plait, and her feet are bare.

"I think it's the other way around, I live here." She quirks an eyebrow, and he licks his lips.

"Heading out?"

"In." He says nothing, silently waiting for an invitation. He frowns, and purses his lips, while she stands there, a gentle smile playing across her lips. "Would you like to-"

"Yes." He answers, his cheeks flaming red when he realizes his error. She laughs, and turns around, not checking that he's following her like a lost puppy.

* * *

"Couldn't you just get another dress?" He asks, truly bewildered by her anger. According to her, it was a long, _long _time ago.

"Because, _Klaus-" _He loves the way she says his name. Her hands fly around as she tells the story, looking slightly like a maniac, and all he can think about is he wants it to be like this all the time.

It's insane, given that this is only the second time he's met her, but he can't help it. He's content, for the first time in his miserable existence. Even the darkest dwellings have light, and she is his.

He wants to paint her, in a million different shades of red.

* * *

He wakes alone, laying flat on his stomach on a carpeted floor. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, but he soon remembers the night and morning past.

He remembers the feel of Caroline pressed against him while she slept, and his resolution to stay awake to memorize her, just in case she vanished when he woke.

And for a second, the entire world seems off it's kilter.

"Caroline," He calls, and he can't help the relief that floods his body when she appears in the doorway, wrapped in a fuzzy, pink robe.

"Scrambled, or fried?"

The world stops spinning, and colour floods his vision once again.

* * *

"It's incredible." She says, taking a deep breath, and even then she feels the need to gasp for air. He's painted her, and yet it's not her, it's him, and she doesn't understand how she feels.

It's like she's glowing, her skin is on fire, her soul rampant with an energy that doesn't belong to her.

"It's for you, for here, for us." He says, kissing her shoulder.

It's been three weeks since she made him breakfast, two weeks since he moved in, and nine incredible paintings later.

He spins her around, she laughs, and his heart_ soars._

He needs her, her needs her more than anything. And he likes to think, that just maybe, she might need him too.

Sometimes, he thinks of his own body as a prison.

He hugs her to him tightly, because he's all too aware that she could evaporate tomorrow, and he'll be alone again, a nameless face in a sea of people. Their feet move without much thought, to a beat that they both hear differently.

"Klaus," She says, her voice full of light. "what're we doing?"

"Dancing." He answers, knowing that's not what she means, and not caring.

"Why?"

"Lovers dance, or so I'm told, when they fall in love." She doesn't look surprised, doesn't look taken aback, she looks happy, devastated yet happy.

"You love me?" She questions, because he hasn't exactly said it, and she needs to hear it, but she doesn't want to, not this time, not _him._

He shrugs, and grins wolfishly. "You're alright, I suppose."

"Klaus," She warns, her brow furrowed, her lips pursed.

"Rebekah said that I can't love, and I said that she loved too easily." He tries to look in her eyes, and confess his undying love, but he can't. The words die a silent death on the tip of his tongue, and she waits, wide-eyed, both dreading his love and anticipating his unspoken declaration. His skin warms hers, and she feels so _young. _"She loved everything, but liked so little."

She's desperate for him to tell her he doesn't, even if it was to be a lie, and that way she'll be eternally bound to him.

And they'll marry, and he'll paint, and she'll bake, and they'll have five insane, crazy, _beautiful _babies, and her life will end as it was supposed to.

* * *

She feels like laughing, but she starts to cry.

She's standing in a bathroom, wearing a fancy party dress. It's Klaus's exhibition, and people have come, and people have praised, and she's confident that he's happy, and it's all because of her.

Caroline smiles through the tears, and sniffs. She watches as the women re-apply their make-up, not giving a second glance to the blubbering woman in the middle of the floor.

Human lives are so _temporary, _tragically so.

She's lonely, so lonely, for the first time in a long time. She wants to talk, to ramble, just so the silence will leave her alone. She feels lost, and hopeless, and like she _needs _Klaus.

And for a moment, the chastest of moments, she thinks that maybe she loves him too.

* * *

September comes, and September goes.

Caroline feels better than ever, and Klaus- Klaus is getting weaker by the day.

The leaves of Autumn settle on the ground, and they crunch beneath her feet as he pulls her through the park in the dead of night.

"Klaus, what're we-" She asks, or at least she tries, because she _hates _surprises. She doesn't know how to dress for them. He quiets her, and continues to tug. She's getting rather sick of him.

She hates that he often misses the bowl of the toilet when he pees, and 'aiming is harder than you think' is not an acceptable excuse. She hates that he never puts the butter back in the fridge when he's done with it. She hates that he can't just hang his damn towel on the towel wrack. She hates that to save himself from loading the dishwasher, he doesn't bother with a plate, crumbs _everywhere._

And most of all, she hates that she kind of loves those things about him.

When he stops, she nearly collides with his chest, but he's there to stop her, and hold her in place. He grins, she frowns.

He drops, she gasps.

He reaches into his pocket, she inwardly screams.

He opens a box, and she takes a breath.

"Marry me, Caroline?" He beams, her balance falters.

He mind screams no, and she takes a step back, her body says no.

The words tumble from her lips without permission, "Yes."

* * *

He thanks her at every exhibition, auction, party, function, but everyone is still to meet his mysterious fiance, his muse. She's there, but they're never together, and yet, he feels her there, and feels happy, functional.

She smiles in the corner, and watches as he spreads his wings, and flies.

His Brother smiles, and claps him on the back. His sister in law tells him he doesn't suck, and he rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, and he's _okay._

She rubs her arms, but she's not cold, she's _tired._

Sadness really takes it out of you, and she takes it from someone else.

A woman feints in the corner, and a crowd gathers around. Caroline feels nothing but guilt in that moment, and then the hatred seeps in, hatred of herself, hatred of what she is.

He always takes her in his arms, he always dances with her, and makes her feel loved. She likes it, not that she'll ever admit it. It's a feeling she knows, a feeling she's more than used to, but she's never liked it, not like this.

"When'll we get married, Love?"

"Soon." She lies, and a tear trails down her cheek. He clutches her tighter.

"I'm so tired." He complains, his eyes fluttering shut.

"I know." She whispers, as he crumbles to the floor.

* * *

"That was Niklaus." Elijah announces, as he sits down on the couch. Katherine swings her legs over his lap, and rests her hands over her minuscule baby bump.

"And what did that delightful little bastard want?" She looks so sweet, but is dripping in poison. A poison that he happens to love the taste of.

"They've set a date. September third."

"Wow."

"Apparently, we can expect an invitation in the mail." He places a hand over hers, and despite herself, she smiles, because she's got her own family now, somewhere she belongs.

"You know she's not real, right? That he's officially off the rails, and I mean _total train wreck." _Elijah sighs, and smiles.

"I know I fell in love with you for some reason but I just can't seem to remember." She scrunches her nose, and slaps him playfully, "And yes, I fear that she may be a figment of Niklaus' imagination."

"I always knew he was crazy, but hey, at least he's not alone anymore."

* * *

He's making a face, a horrible, disgusting, _adorable _face. She's been begging him to take her ice skating. She pleaded all through December, she demanded all through January. And so, here they are, January twenty fifth, ice beneath their feet.

He stumbles along beside the railing, while she skates rings around him.

"This was a bad idea." He murmurs, as a small girl passes him by, her pig tails flying behind her. It reminds him of Rebekah at that age, all toothless smiles, and eyes full of wonder. She had him wrapped around her finger, she had them all under her thumb.

He thinks back to the last Summer they spent with her, how she'd often have her five brothers sitting on a tiny pink table in the back garden, summoned for imaginary afternoon tea. She'd send out the invitations that morning, all hand-written, all containing the word 'mandatory'.

She'd be sixteen now, and a terror no doubt.

But Rebekah's gone, and she'll never be sixteen.

She'll be eight years old, always and forever.

"Klaus." When he comes around, his eyes heavy with unshed tears, Caroline is waving her hand in front of his face, shouting his name. "Klau-" His grips her arms tightly, not noticing the way she winces. "Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"Yes, Caroline, I think the whole park heard you." He hisses, but looking around no one is watching them, nobody stares.

"What were you thinking about?" She asks, tilting her head to the side. And suddenly, he can't remember, his mind is solely focused on Caroline.

"Nothing." He answers, and genuine smile on his face. "Nothing at all."

* * *

"It's time, Caroline." Elena says, and Caroline sighs, knowing it's true. "This is how it works, remember? This is how we live."

"But-" She protests, because she's not ready.

"This is what we wanted." She can't remember anymore, it's been three hundred years since she decided that this is what she wanted. Sure, she loves being strong, ageless, fearless, and she prefers who she is now to the girl she once was, but she's never understood the price, not until now.

"You don't understand, Elena." Because Caroline can't fathom how _anyone _survives this and lives to tell the tale.

"I don't understand?" Elena's voice is raw, and it takes her a moment to realize why she sounds so hurt. "Damon... It's been over a hundred years, nearly a hundred and fifty, and I still-"

"Miss him?" She nods, and sits down beside her.

"The worst day of loving someone is the day that you lose them."

"Do you still love him?" She asks, and it's an odd question. They aren't supposed to love, their affections are supposed to be fleeting. Humans are supposed to be playthings, food to them.

"I can't imagine a day I won't."

* * *

He's fuming by the time she makes it home. She isn't sure how long she's been gone, you have to alter your perception of time when you're immortal. She's spent the week in Paris, shopping, talking with a poet, catching up with Elena- just being _Caroline._

He's pacing the room, glass of bourbon in his hand, chest splattered with paint, and the canvas is vibrantly green behind him. She thinks it's good, it may even be his best.

"Where were you?" He roars, and he smashes his glass off of a nearby wall. The amber liquid seeps into the cream wallpaper, and the ice lays melting on the ground. He's furious. She can see it in his eyes, and it's all for the best. It'll help him to create.

He's trembling with anger.

"Answer me!" He's scared, and if she's being honest, she's a little afraid too. He's eyes are like saucers, his teeth are bared, and his hands are curled into fists at his sides. She watches him in silence for several minutes, until his breathing evens out, and his lips purse in disapproval. "I'm sorry." He tells her, although he feels like he shouldn't, but he just doesn't want her to leave. "Rebekah always said 'love first, think later'."

"She sounds smart."

"She was."

"Don't leave, Sweetheart." He pleads, and it's pathetic, and desperate, but he can't find the will to care. He's positively obsessed with her, and he _loves _it.

"Klaus, I-" The tears swell, and she's decided that she has _not _missed crying, not even a little bit. The flames in his eyes rise again, burning more brightly than ever.

"Just go, Caroline." He says, his voice laced with venom. And it hurts her, it really hurts. She can feel herself beginning to shine, her eyes beginning to radiate, and she _hates it._

But there's no way back now, no way out.

"Get out!" His voice is so loud, a neighbor is bound to call for help. Yes, help for the crazy man shouting alone in his apartment. The thought breaks her heart, that anyone could think that of Klaus, her Klaus.

He begins to cough, the life draining from his eyes, and there's not a thing she can do now.

"Klaus," She breathes, and smiles. "I love you." She tells him with glee, and it's been three hundred years since she last told someone that. Tyler Lockwood, they always say that the first cut is the deepest, but they don't tell you that the rest still hurt.

And God, does it hurt.

She takes his face between her hands, and stares him right in the eyes. He looks dumbfounded, a million miles away.

He doesn't say it back to her that night, but he loves her in his own way, the only way he knows how. And by the end of the night, or the beginning on the morning, she knows that nine hundred years from now, she'll still remember the way his skin felt against hers, the rhythm of his furiously beating heart, and the feeling of her heart on fire.

* * *

Her love is his, and his life is hers.

"A private wedding?" He repeats, she pulls the tray of cupcakes from the oven.

"Yes." She says, her voice laced with irritation. "I just want it to be you and I, just the way it's meant to be."

"Caroline, I can't see you." He whines, and she walks back over to the computer. He looks absolutely miserable, and sopping wet. "Why are you all wet?" She asks, a giggle escaping her lips.

"Oh, I forgot what time it was, so I was in the shower, and then I heard the alarm, and raced out here to see you." He grins wolfishly, because Caroline is such a hopeless romantic. She always cries when that Noah bloke, and that Alice reunite on the journal, or something to that effect. He has no idea why it's her favourite. If Caroline were to ever leave him, he'd do a hell of a lot more than write a bloody letter, or three hundred and sixty five.

"I miss you." She confesses, and pulls a stool over to the computer. The counter, and nearly everything in the kitchen is covered in some kind of ingredient. Three hundred years, and she still hasn't mastered baking.

"I miss you too, Sweetheart. All I can think about is how much I want to show you the world, Caroline."

"Isn't this your dream? Travel for your art, be a _critically _acclaimed artist?" He nods along, because yes, it's everything he's wanted since he was five years old and discovered he could create another world for himself, but now?

"You're my dream."

* * *

"Caroline." Someone sings, and it takes her a minute to adjust to reality.

"Klaus?" She's been sleeping for hours, maybe days. Without him there, without anyone there, she's been so tired. He's buzzing with energy, she can feel it, and she takes it.

His skin pales a little, his eyes grow weary, but his grin is as bright as ever.

"Come with me, I want to show you something." He's gone in a flash, and she begrudgingly follows, mumbling something about beauty sleep. She gasps when she reaches the living room, her eyes nearly bulging from her head. The entire room is being lit by fairy lights, that look suspiciously like the ones that she decorated the Christmas tree with. It's then that she notices Klaus is dressed in a suit, looking impeccable. She quirks an eyebrow, shutting her mouth in the process. The furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room.

"Klaus, what's-" He's grinning like a fool. She starts to reciprocate, even though she has no idea what's going on, but he coughs, and she begins to panic.

She places a hand over his heart, and it feels unnaturally slow.

"Are you okay?" She asks, but he's not, and she knows exactly why.

"I'm fine." He laughs, and puts his hand over hers. "I'm fine, Love. I've just been feeling a little under the weather lately, that's life I suppose."

* * *

They're dancing, they always dance.

"Klaus?" She asks, her head buried against his chest, and she feels sickeningly like she's home. "What're we doing?"

"Dancing." She doesn't respond, and he knows that it's now or never, because it's what he came home to do. "I love you."

"What?"

"I love you." The words slip from his mouth with ease.

"I know you're in love with me, I just don't know why?" He laughs, actually laughs at her. She scowls at him, and he laughs ever harder.

"Caroline, Sweetheart," His eyes shine, "I love you." He tells her, the laughter flowing freely through him. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

It's enough.

* * *

Caroline is still there when the sun rises, curled against his bare chest, his fingers has long since stilled combing through her hair.

"How about Jeremy?" He asks, and she shakes her head.

"No, I knew a Jeremy once." She can't help but smile at the memory. "How about Taylor?"

"An ex?"

"No," She shakes her head, but then thinks better of it. "yes. It was complicated, we were never really a thing."

"But you were." He says, his voice rigid with jealousy. "Did you love him?"

"I thought so, maybe."

"And now?" He asks.

"No. I don't think so. It was a long time ago."

"You say that about everything, Love."

* * *

"Elijah," Klaus calls, running down the nauseating white hallway. "what's going on? What's happening?" Elijah stands, his balance shaking slightly.

"It's Katherine." He tells him, and Klaus places a hand on his shoulder as to steady him. "It's too soon. It's too soon."

"I-"

"What date is it?" Elijah asks frantically, his eyes wide, his hair disheveled.

"April?" Klaus says, and it sounds more like a question than an answer.

"Yes, but what date?"

"It's the nineteenth, definitely. Caroline was off at some sale today, she'd been talking about it for weeks."

"Right, right." He sits back down, running his hands through his hair.

"Well, if it isn't the lost brother." Klaus turns his head to the side, greeted by the sight of his younger brother.

"Kol?"

"Don't sound so surprised, brother! As if you, or anyone, could forget a face this handsome. Tell him, 'Lijah." Elijah continues staring into space, ignoring Kol's attempts to hand him a coffee. "Or not. Has there been any word?" Klaus tries again,

"What's happened? How are the babies?"

"I don't know. We were asleep, and then Katherine felt a pain, and I couldn't do a thing to stop it." Elijah looks fit for a coffin, Klaus knows how he feels.

He felt it when Rebekah died.

Its a sense of total loss, and complete hopelessness.

"They're only twenty nine weeks. It's too soon."

* * *

"I'm sorry." She tells him, and she means it too.

"Less than two pounds, Caroline." He says, stirring his coffee. It's been three days, and he's spent every waking moment at the hospital. He can't really do anything, but it seems to help Elijah anyway. "What have you been up to?"

"Planning."

"The wedding?"

"The future, yes." She answers, and it's not technically a lie. She's been scoping out her next life, her next victim. "How's Elijah?"

"Devastated." He sighs, "He can't even hold his children, and Katherine seems to be in complete denial."

"I'm sure." She nods, placing her arms around his neck. "I can't even imagine."

"I just-" He starts, placing a hand around her wrist, clutching to any form of stability. "I don't think we can handle it again, as a family. When Rebekah died-" He says, his voice catching in his throat. "we were all there you know. We sat in that hospital room, and we we watched her breathing for hours. And I begged some divine power to let her live one more day. Because I couldn't remember the last time I'd played with her, the last time I'd kissed her forehead, and tucked her into bed. I wanted to do it one more time. I wanted to wish her a night full of sweet dreams."

"I'm sorry." She whispers clutching him tighter.

"I can't lose my family again, Caroline. This will break him. It will break Katherine. I don't want them to die."

* * *

They're tiny. Aaron and Alexander Mikaelson.

They're bursting with energy, and for a second, she thinks they might live on their own.

But she knows better than anyone, life doesn't last forever.

Placing a hand on each child, she closes her eyes, and begins to return what should never have been hers in the first place.

People aren't supposed to live forever.

* * *

Klaus is asleep when she returns, weak and tired, and feeling horrifically human. She crawls into bed beside him, her hand lain flat against his chest. As the last years of life seep from her body, and into his, Caroline closes her eyes, knowing when he wakes, his nephews will be alive, healthy, and ready to live a full and happy life, and so will he.

She, on the other hand, will be gone forever.

And for the first time, in three hundred years, she's okay with that.

She traces shapes on his chest, a warm feeling overtaking her body, her fingers carve I love you, one final time.

And with a smile playing across her lips, she thinks her final thought of him, as the world begins to fade away,

_Home._


End file.
